Home>>TRIPLE CROSS Excerpt . . .

A metallic click dragged me from the depths of a dreamless sleep.

I had no memory of falling asleep. Couldn’t, in fact, remember slipping between the sheets. I was lying on my back with an inadequate pillow flattened beneath my head. My skin felt cool, and I realized I’d flung off the bedspread sometime during the night.

Another click. The sound hadn’t come from the air-conditioning unit as I’d first thought, or the thermostat on the wall directly to my left. It sounded like it had come from the other side of my door.

I held my breath and listened. Had I flipped the . . . what had Fortman called it? The fliplock? I couldn’t remember.

Another softer click was followed by a subtle shift in the room’s air pressure and a definite change in the background noise. A yellow shaft of light telescoped across the ceiling, then collapsed back onto itself and disappeared as the door to the hallway opened, then closed.

Someone had stepped into my room. One person, judging from the length of time the door had been open.

I could hear his breathing as I eased my arms from beneath the sheet. The top corner of the bedspread lay curled over like a wave rolling onto a beach. My jeans were buried somewhere beneath it, and the only weapon I owned was tucked inside the front right pocket. I slipped my arm between the folds, and my fingertips brushed cool denim.

The guy at the door hadn’t moved. He’d stepped from a brightly-lit hall into a pitch black room. I pictured the layout as it must have appeared to him. Thanks to the crack under the door, he would have a good bit of light around his shoes, but I doubted it stretched beyond the foyer. I’d drawn the drapes, and the token nightlight incorporated into the hairdryer holder in the bathroom had burned out. The faint green glow from the clock’s digital readout and an occasional flash of red from the smoke detector wouldn’t help him much.

I’d found my jeans’ waistband. I inched the material through my fingers until I felt the snap. Curled my fingers around the knife’s casing. Withdrawing the knife, I struggled to control my breathing. My only chance of getting the upper hand was to convince him that I was asleep.

The sound of a shoe pressing into carpet reached my ears.

I unfolded the blade . . .

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Purchase a copy of TRIPLE CROSS.
Poisoned Pen Press
ISBN: 1-59058-302-9
December, 2006

Trade paperback
ISBN: 1-59058-478-3
May, 2007

ISBN: 1-59058-303-6
March, 2007


"Just as a horse recognizes when sure hands gather the reins, from the first page of Triple Cross, I found myself on the bit and ready to go wherever Kit Ehrman led. Set in Louisville as Derby excitement builds ... the mystery unfolds with a clocker's precision while deftly capturing the city, the track, and its thoroughbred stars."
~Robbee Huseth, bookseller

party scene
Louisville, KY
the high life
K i t   E h r m a n . . .
Triple Cross


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